


We Can Burn it Down (the Black Canary Remix)

by jaegermighty



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Polyamory, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 01:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1533029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaegermighty/pseuds/jaegermighty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't understand," Felicity says, "is it - is it us? Are we doing something wrong?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Can Burn it Down (the Black Canary Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peacefulboo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefulboo/gifts).
  * Inspired by [We Can Light a Match](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1331752) by [peacefulboo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefulboo/pseuds/peacefulboo). 



Sara and Oliver never fought often, when they were together, but when they did, it was brutal. Which is probably why they tried not to do it much.

"You spend half your life with one foot out the door," he accused once, angry about something, whatever, Sara doesn't remember, "every time I look at you, I think, 'how long am I gonna get this time? How long until she leaves again?'"

Like, he had a point. She didn't appreciate his tone, though.

She doesn't know how to explain it to him, Oliver who spends all of his time fighting so hard to stay put, gritting his teeth and digging in his heels and bracing his back against the wall, all for the luxury of being _home._ She doesn't know how to look him in the eye, those eyes that love and understand her so, and tell him: _I don't know how to do this. I never did, even before. Sometimes I dream about killing you. Sometimes I like it._

(She doesn't know how to say: _I want to leave. This life, it's good for you, so good for you both, and I love you, God I love you so much, but there's nothing for me here, and you need to let me go._ How do you even say that to someone, though? She doesn't know. Who even would.)

 

 

"I don't understand," Felicity says, "is it - is it us? Are we doing something wrong?"

God. "No," Sara says, reaching out despite her better instincts. Felicity grabs her hand desperately and squeezes, like she can keep Sara here if she holds on tight enough. "No, honey, it's not you. It's me."

"'It's not you, it's me,' _really_ ," Felicity repeats, tears sparkling in those pretty, babydoll eyes. "Jeez, Sara."

"I know. I'm sorry." In a lot of ways, telling Felicity is a harder thing than telling Oliver. If she'd gone to Oliver, he'd have tried to talk her out of it, sure, but - Oliver's got a fatalistic pragmatism, when it comes to this sort of thing. He always expects to be left behind, after all - he wouldn't have fought it, like Felicity does. Which is why Sara chose her instead.

(Sara may be an asshole sometimes, but capitalizing on _that_ \- not a line she feels comfortable crossing.)

"You can't honestly tell me that the League is where you belong," Felicity says, still on the verge of crying but - she's got that hardness to her now too, her jaw set and that stubborn light to her eyes that she gets when she takes that deep breath as she readies herself to say something forceful, something she thinks is risky but never actually is. (Always underestimating how much everyone loves her - that's Felicity all over.) "I know you think that it's what you deserve, and you're so determined to prove to us how bad of a person you are - "

"That's not - "

"But that's bull, Sara, it's just - it's so dumb," Felicity pushes through, digging her nails into the meaty part of Sara's palm. "You have to know that we don't care. Whatever you think is so bad and rotten about yourself, that you think you shouldn't be around us - it doesn't matter. You don't need to be a good person for us to love you, that's kind of the point."

"It's not that," Sara says. "It's not. That's just an excuse we use. You gotta know that."

Felicity covers her mouth and closes her eyes, doesn't reply, and Sara feels like she's just punched her in the face.

"I love you," Sara says, scraping the words together and pushing them out, even though they feel wrong. It's the least she can do. "All of you."

Felicity starts crying in earnest and Sara hugs her, feels her damp little cheek against her collarbone, presses her palm to Felicity's shoulder and traces the scar that Sara's always felt some sense of ownership of, just a little. Too much. 

"I'll be back one day," she says, and Felicity sighs, clenching her fists in the bottom of Sara's shirt. "I will. You'll see."

"You damn well better," Felicity chokes out angrily. Sara closes her eyes and nods.

 

 

It's better this way, it's fine. It's good. Sara has dinner with her dad and Laurel and tells them she'll be gone for awhile and tries not to feel hurt about how little they react, the resigned face they both wear, the stretched out smiles they give her when they say: _keep in touch, we'll be here when you get back, be careful._

It's easy, too easy, doing the rounds: Digg, Roy, Sin, Thea. The graveyard, where Tommy and Moira and Robert lie quiet. She gets on her motorcycle and tries, honestly tries to feel sadness instead of relief, some kind of regret instead of the anticipation for what lies ahead, a long open-ended stretch of time with no obligations, nothing but the empty road and her own thoughts to carry.

(She doesn't talk to Oliver and she thinks he'd probably understand, and whatever, it's better this way, like she said. She wonders how long it will take, for he and Felicity to get their shit together, if when she comes back they'll have kids or a dog or something. She thinks that'd be kind of nice to see. She wonders what they'll name them.)

 

 

She's gone for a year.

Nothing all that great about it.

 

 

 _hey,_ Oliver texts her once. It was Sara's going away gift, this untraceable, unhackable, Felicity Smoak-approved phone. It's only lit up a few times since she's left, but she keeps it with her all the time, anyway. _where are u?_

 _reno,_ Sara sends back. _killed a man just to watch him die_

 _overrated, isn't it,_ is Oliver's reply, and Sara looks up from the scope her gun to read it, laughs a little against the gum in her teeth. _would u be willing to come back for a visit? F and i have news_

Sara thinks: marriage, baby, or dog, and texts back: _sure._ Oliver sends back some kind of incomprehensible emoji, which Sara is fairly sure is the work or either Thea or Sin, standing over his shoulder.

(She saves it for posterity. Or blackmail. Whatever.)

She goes straight from the airport to the restaurant they'd chosen, some out of the way place with blinking fluorescent lights and peeling wallpaper. Felicity jumps out of her seat and runs the few steps to meet her, hugging her tightly and rocking her back and forth happily in the middle of the aisle. Sara laughs and hugs her back.

"Missed me?"

"Of course," Felicity says, pulling back, cheeks flushed. Behind her, Oliver looks rather stoic, sitting stiffly in the booth and staring at Sara's knees. "Of course."

"Hey, Ollie," she dares to say, and sits down across from him. His knee jerks a little as she bumps it with hers.

"Sara," he murmurs, reaching out for her hand, finally meeting her gaze. Sara blinks and takes it gratefully, smiling tentatively and getting an equally hesitant one back. 

She barely tastes the food, too dizzy with their presence - Felicity's cut her hair, a trendy, layered style that just barely brushes her shoulders, a shock of bangs that sweep across her forehead and changes the shape of her face. There's a new scar on Oliver's neck, a nasty looking thing that she burns with wanting to touch. Felicity's dress is dark maroon. Oliver's wearing his father's watch. Sara can't stop staring.

There's a layered kind of tension to the way she and Oliver interact - they're definitely together, that much Sara can tell, but there's a kind of stilted formality in how he braces his arm around the back of her shoulders in the booth, the way reaches over to pick lint from his shirtsleeve. It's new, then, Sara decides - too early to be completely comfortable with it. And she's got to be a wrench in the works, too, the ex-girlfriend, sitting across from them, probably weirding them out. 

(She thought she'd be okay to do this, that she'd gotten a handle on all of it, but instead she feels exposed, vulnerable, a raw nerve who can't stop looking at their hands, clasped on the tabletop. Surely they've figured it out by now, surely they know. How could they not, with everything written all over her face? It's got to be there. Sara can't imagine that it isn't.)

Her second miscalculation: their news isn't personal, and Sara sits there and marvels at how bad her predictions were as they tell her all about the Arrow's new partnership with ARGUS and Amanda Waller's Suicide Squad.

"We're not exactly happy about it," Oliver clarifies. "But Amanda - "

"Amanda," Felicity mutters resentfully.

Oliver pauses and raises an eyebrow at Felicity, who purses her lips in a mockery of innocence. Sara snorts. "Amanda," he repeats insistently, "does have good intentions at the end of the day, even if her methods are questionable."

"Everyone's methods are questionable," Sara says, reaching over to steal one of Oliver's French fries, an old habit she doesn't even realize she's indulging in until her mouth is already full. "Ours included."

Oliver concedes the point. "It'll be easier to keep an eye on them, too, this way," he says, and beside him, Felicity nods in reluctant agreement.

"We were wondering," she says hesitantly, "and this isn't just a ploy to get you to come home! Not that we don't want you home, of course we do, but we don't want to pressure you either - "

"I know," Sara says, interrupting as kindly as she can, "I know, it's okay."

Felicity blushes. "Well - we just wanted to know if it'd be alright if we called you back, every once in awhile. When we needed your help." 

"Of course," Sara says, taken aback at the request. "Did you think you couldn't?"

Oliver and Felicity exchange a look, and Sara's heart sinks to her feet. 

"It seemed rather...final," Oliver finally says. "When you left."

"I didn't mean it to - I mean," Sara stammers, " _I_ left, not the Canary. I thought you knew that."

Something must be showing on her face, something more than Sara wants there to be, because Oliver looks sort of stricken, reaching out to grasp Sara's hand.

"Well, we know now," he says, with that soothing, strong faith that Sara's missed so badly. "We know now."

"Right." Sara takes a deep breath, allows herself to keep holding his hand. "Good."

It takes too long for him to let go and pull back, especially in front of Felicity. If Sara were a better person, she'd let go first. 

(But then again: she did leave. And that counts. Maybe that's enough.)

"We'll say hello to everyone for you," Felicity says, holding onto Sara's waist beneath the tattered awning outside, waiting for Oliver to bring the car around. "Digg and Roy and - Thea, oh my God, did we mention that she's helping us now? She's pretty good with a bow."

Sara smiles a little, swaying close and breathing in Felicity's perfume. "She keeps in touch," she murmurs. "Email and stuff."

"Good," Felicity says firmly. "You should - you can visit them. Any of them. They'd love to see you."

"Sure," Sara says noncommittally, not looking over, not wanting to see Felicity's face fall. Of course they'd all love to see her. 

(That's the crux of the problem, right there.)

 

 

She's not with the League. She's well aware that's what everybody thinks, but she's not. She'd tried, had even dared to show her face in Nanda Parbat, where Nyssa was waiting with open arms, of course. But she couldn't do it. Couldn't bear it for more than a few days.

She could tell them, but she doesn't. It's easier that way.

Instead, she just wanders. Making friends, enemies, allies. Sin guides her, mostly, sending her news clippings and tips from her network of sources - _there's a gang in Gotham City that's been murdering prostitutes, could use some Canary-style talkings to,_ or _heads up: cops in New York have got a sketch of your face - what happened to your mask, dummy??!!_

In Metropolis she meets a man, a reporter who manages to track her movements well enough to make Sin nervous. His name is Amin, and Sara is intrigued by him, enough to let him see her face. If Sin knew, she'd flip, but - Sara Lance and Black Canary have become entwined enough, over the years, that it hardly matters much anymore. Just as Oliver Queen and Green Arrow, or Roy Harper and Arsenal - it's just the illusion of secrecy that matters. It's not like it's hard to connect the dots.

He's kind and brave, and he touches Sara with gentle awe, an almost kind of reverence she's not really used to. Sara stays for a rare three months, and even manages to forget about Oliver and Felicity for a while, something she wasn't sure she could do. But in the end, he deserves better, and so she leaves. They always do; it's nothing new.

She's no stranger to Starling, either. Oliver's not exactly hesitant to call her back when he needs help, and Sara feels sort of terrible about it, thinking of that year when he hadn't called at all, thinking he wasn't allowed. She'd assumed they just hadn't needed her help, but knowing now that they did, that they just thought they couldn't ask, makes her heart feel sick. 

She starts popping over to Central City, too. Her mother and her new husband are always happy to see her, but Sara doesn't know how to talk to them, sometimes. Every conversation she has, with anybody, feels like a distraction, these days. When she checks in on these people she loves, her family of blood and her family of choice, she feels - silly. Childish. Like she's running away, instead of doing the right thing, like she'd thought before. 

She keeps waiting for that call, to hear about them. Oliver and Felicity. It's been more than enough time, now, every time she sees them she notices how strong they are, how solid they've become. How Oliver relies on her for guidance, how Felicity looks to him for strength. They complement each other, they work, Sara looks at them sometimes and feels blessed just to witness it. She thinks everyone else - Digg, certainly, but Roy and her dad and everyone - does too.

She keeps waiting to hear: _so, we have news, Sara. How do you feel about being a maid of honor? Well, of course I want it to be you. You're my best friend. Who else would I ask?_ But it never comes. She's relieved, but she isn't. She wants it, but she doesn't. She wants them, but she's ashamed.

(She's in love, but she's scared.)

 

 

She's in England when she gets the call, some mess with a branch of the League that had split from Ra's back in the eighties and now fancy themselves terrorists. It comes through on Felicity's phone, and Barry, next to her, recognizes the ring tone instantly.

"Go ahead and take it," he says, with a boyish grin. "She'll keep calling if you don't."

Sara grins as she follows instructions, a rare smile that instantly disappears at Felicity's voice.

"Can you come back?" she's asking, and it feels like poison, turning all of Sara's muscles into stone. "It's not - it's not an emergency or anything, but just - "

"Are you hurt?" Sara demands, doing quick math in her head. It's around 3 AM in Starling right now. Things have been quiet lately, Sin has said, but you never know, and - "What happened?"

"Nothing, nothing happened," Felicity blurts, sort of panicked. She's been crying, Sara can tell. "God, I'm sorry, this is so stupid, I'm just a little drunk and - "

"Honey," Sara says, choked, "what is it? What's wrong?"

"I just, I need to see you," Felicity says helplessly, and Sara closes her eyes.

Barry's more than happy to run her back, with profuse reassurance that he can handle it fine, no don't worry, they need you at home, it's totally cool. Sara gets dropped off on the sidewalk in front of Felicity's condo, feeling nauseous not so much from the cross-country ride-along than from the phantom memory of Felicity's voice in her ear, the little moan she'd made when Sara had said, _I'm on my way._

Oliver's motorcycle is in the driveway. Not a breakup then, probably. Sara doesn't know how to feel about that.

He's waiting for her on the couch when she goes inside, drinking from a mug of something hot and looking exhausted. "Hey there," he says, as if she's just popped by for a visit. "She's in the bedroom. Finally convinced her to lay down."

"What the fuck," Sara says helplessly, sinking down on the coffee table across from him. "What's going on?"

"You should," he says, and pauses, swallowing. There's a tiny spider web of cuts on his forehead, just at the edge of his hairline - glass, most likely. His knuckles are a little raw, and he's starting to go silver around his temples. Sara clenches her fist, to keep from touching. "You should just go talk to her. I don't know what else to say."

Sara bites her lip, but Oliver smiles at her - wan, but genuine. "Okay."

"She's still awake," he says, not that he needs to. Her hearing is much better than his, after all. 

Sara knows this place better than she knows most of the places she's lived in her life, with its cheerfully painted walls and eclectic mix of Felicity's ultra-modern, minimalist style and Oliver's old money sensibilities. Sara trails her hand along the hallway wall as she walks, following the sound of Felicity's clock radio, and stops outside the doorway to breathe deeply and tell herself: _it's not what you think, probably, just stay calm._

Inside, Felicity's on the bed, wearing one of Oliver's shirts and a pair of shorts that are old and faded, bunched up around her thighs. She looks up at Sara's entrance and her face crumbles.

"Hi," she says miserably, and Sara's next to her, without even being conscious of moving. "You didn't have to come back, I didn't mean to pull you away, God - "

"Of course I came," Sara says, wrapping her arms around Felicity's thin shoulders and pressing her lips to her crown. "Tell me what's the matter, honey, it's okay."

"I just," Felicity says, rubbing her cheek against Sara's neck a little before she pulls back, climbing up on her knees to face her. There's alcohol on her breath, but her pupils look fine, and there's a half-empty liter of water next to her among the blankets. "I was just really sad tonight, because I was drinking, that was a mistake, like - I always get sad when I drink, and Oliver tried to warn me but we were at this party thing and they had really good wine, and I dunno, I just stopped paying attention to how many glasses I had and then all of a sudden it was like bam! Crying in the coat room." Felicity laughs self-deprecatingly. "I think I scarred Roy for life. God, I was such a mess, ugh - "

"Roy'll survive," Sara says wryly, unable to stop the smile that inches across her face. God, she's just so cute. "What were you sad about?"

"Life," Felicity says, with a groan. "The universe, everything. You."

"Me," Sara repeats dumbly. Her heart is pounding. "You were sad about me?"

Felicity nods, bending over and leaning her forehead in one hand. She doesn't have her glasses on, so she's squinting, gaze locked on her own lap. 

"Because," Sara says tentatively, "you miss me?"

Felicity nods again, biting her lip, and Sara takes another deep breath. Her heart is still pounding, and it hurts a little. 

"Well," she says, "I'm...I'm sorry, I - "

"No, don't apologize," Felicity blurts, stricken. "I wanted to apologize! To you. Sorry, I should've led with that, huh." She squints at Sara, shaking her hair out of her face. "About...us. The three of us, we didn't - I don't think we handled it well, and I need to apologize - "

"No," Sara says firmly. Her hands are shaking. "No, you don't."

"The thing is," Felicity says stubbornly, her jaw set. Like Sara hadn't even said anything. "The thing is - I think you maybe have the wrong idea about some things, like we had the wrong idea about you. About how we thought we couldn't call you back? Remember?" Sara opens her mouth to reply, but nothing comes out, and Felicity keeps going. "It was messed up, what was going on, us sleeping together and not talking about it, you and Oliver being broken up but not, and we were all just - fumbling around and not talking about anything and I think that's why you left, because you thought you had to, or maybe like, you thought you couldn't stay? And that's - that's messed up."

Sara feels a little faint. "Oh."

"We thought you wanted to leave," Felicity says tearfully, still squinting, clutching at her own chest like she can't breathe or something. "We thought you didn't _want_ to stay, with _us_ , so we didn't say anything and God, Sara, I really think that was a mistake. And if we made you think that you couldn't stay, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, because that's not true."

"Felicity," Sara says, more of a croak than her own voice. The floorboards creak a little, and she turns to see Oliver in the doorway, listening. 

"I just love you so much," Felicity says tearfully, "and I miss you every day, we both do, and like - it occured to me tonight, when I was, you know, drinking too much and being sad - that there's just no reason for any of this. We're all walking on eggshells and it's so dumb, like - the worst that could happen is that you don't want us anymore, right? And at least now you _know_ , like if nothing else you should know that you're welcome, that you always have a home with us. And that's _important._ "

"It doesn't make sense," Sara says, and realizes distantly that she's crying a little. Just leaking tears, in a way that she hasn't done since - since forever. "Nothing about this makes sense. How you can want me and him at the same time - "

"No, but it's true," Felicity says, and reaches out to touch Sara's cheek, to wipe the tears away. Sara leans into it, overwhelmed.

"Stop lurking, Ollie," she mumbles, letting Felicity pull her down, down into her soft cotton sheets, in her creaky old bed, in her haphazard little bedroom. Sara gasps a little when Felicity touches her back, feels Oliver's weight on the edge of the bed, his hands, tentative on her ankles. 

"It's okay," Felicity whispers, how ludicrous, Sara thinks, to end up being the one comforted when she'd arrived, thinking she was the one there to save the day. She's not a hero, in any sense of the word, Sara knows that with a certainty that they'll never share, but - that she doesn't need to be? That she's allowed to lay her body down in their bed and have them touch her like this, like she's something special? That's something that - that's something Sara never thought she'd have. Something good. Something - something beautiful.

She doesn't deserve it, but maybe that doesn't matter. God knows life isn't fair and it's about time that they started getting the nice end of that stick. 

"We'll figure it out," Oliver says, and Sara nods. Yeah, it'll be fine.

 

 

("I didn't go back to the League," Sara tells them, needing them to finally know, to get that weight off of her chest.

"What?" Oliver replies. "Oh. Yeah, we know."

"Oh," Sara says, and turns her head to let him stroke her hair. 

"As if we wouldn't keep track of you," Felicity says with a scoff. "You're such a dweeb sometimes, Sara."

"Oh," Sara says again, and laughs. It surprises both of them, she can tell, but Felicity shrugs and smiles in response. "Yeah, I guess I am.")

**Author's Note:**

> so hi there hello, I hope you liked it, boofadil, and that I managed to stay true to your story the way I'd hoped. My approach to this was to sort of switch it around so that Sara would be the one leaving instead of Felicity, and I hope I managed to keep it as an reinterpretation of your story instead of a completely new one. Not sure if I pulled it off, but I hope I did!!! Enjoy <3


End file.
